by Laura Landon
His lips touched hers.
He was adequate to the task, but when his tongue attempted to breach her mouth, she lost what little courage she had left. She turned her head away from him and sucked in a huge breath of air.
Millicent wanted to swipe her gloved hand over her mouth to erase any trace of Radburn from her flesh, but she knew he would take it as an unforgivable insult. Instead, she clamped her lips together and struggled to calm her racing heart.
He was angry. She knew he was. His body stiffened beside her, and he moved away from her on the carriage seat.
“If I didn’t know better, I could almost think you were repulsed by my kisses.”
His voice was low and soft, but his words brimmed with accusation.
“No, Marcus,” she stammered. “It’s only that you surprised me. I . . . uh . . . I’m not as experienced as you would like me to be.”
“I don’t want you to be experienced, my dear. But I do expect you to be willing.”
“I am,” Millicent said, but the words didn’t sound sincere even to her own ears. “I simply need time.”
“Time is something you don’t have in abundance. Our wedding will take place in a matter of days—hardly enough time to suddenly discover some well-hidden longing. You will be my wife whether you are ready . . . or not.”
He released a harsh sigh, then flicked the buggy whip at the horse.
The carriage horse bolted, then galloped forward as if trying escape Radburn’s anger.
Millicent wished she could do the same.
. . .
Something was wrong. The uncomfortable tension as they suffered through dinner was nearly unbearable. Barnaby tried to keep the conversation flowing, but Radburn’s answers were short and required no further discussion. Millicent’s participation in the conversation was nonexistent.
Barnaby tried to evaluate Radburn and Millicent’s moods, but had a difficult time putting his finger on what had happened. From Millicent’s unbridled words and narrowed glare, it was obvious her temper was about to get the better of her.
To Barnaby’s great relief, shortly after dinner everyone claimed exhaustion and retired early. That gave Barnaby a few hours’ rest before he rose to examine the hidden hallways that surrounded several of the rooms.
When he was certain the house was asleep, he left his room and crept down the stairs. He started in the formal salon Radburn had taken them to when they’d first arrived. The room in an octagonal shape. He chose that room because he knew where all but one of the openings were. Hopefully he’d be able to find the fourth.
He passed through the hidden doorway Radburn’s man had used to enter the room. He turned to close the door, but to his surprise, the panel closed on its own. There must be a spring that opened and closed the doors.
Once he stepped beyond the hidden exit, he expected the hallway to be dark, but it wasn’t. Every fifteen feet or so, a glass lantern containing a candle was attached to the wall above his head. The candles didn’t put out a great deal of light, but enough to illuminate his way.
He walked around the circumference of the room at a slow pace to get his feel of the passageway. Barnaby didn’t stop to search for the hidden exits he presumed were there, but counted his footsteps as he walked steadily forward. He knew he would eventually come to a wall that would prevent him from going further. On the other side of the wall would be the outer hallway and the doorway to the room.
When he reached the wall, he recounted his footsteps until he reached the place where he’d begun. He felt for the latch to open the door, but the panel was smooth. He lifted his candle. It wasn’t until he’d raised the light above his head that he noticed a small metal knob protruding from the wall. He pressed on the knob, and the panel slowly opened. The salon lay before him. As if on a timed mechanism, the door closed on its own. “Remarkable,” he whispered.
He pressed the metal knob again and the door opened. He was truly impressed by Radburn’s ingenuity.
Barnaby remained in the hidden hallway and let the door close. This time when he made his way around the half circle, he felt the wall for any sign of a door that would lead him to hidden exits.
He’d walked about fifteen paces before he came to the first door. He found the metal knob and went through the door that opened into a hall that led him to the kitchen. This route was undoubtedly used by the staff when serving Radburn’s guests.
Barnaby retraced his steps until he returned to where he’d started. He counted another fifteen paces, then stopped at the next hidden door. This one led to a small office space. Barnaby wondered if it might be used by the man who’d come for Radburn that first day, who Barnaby had discovered went by the name Silas Armor. Barnaby made a mental note to return tomorrow night to search the room for anything that might help them.
He investigated each hidden opening and found more hallways leading to several butler’s pantries. Finally, he reached the last opening. He expected more of the same, but when he pressed the metal button to open the door, he found that the room before him wasn’t dark. Nor was it an office area, or a room designed for servant use. This room was as comfortable as any of the receiving rooms on the ground floor. It was obviously part of someone’s living quarters.
The area wasn’t well lit. It was the middle of the night, after all. But the room was lit well enough that he could make out the shadowy outlines of furniture.
The room wasn’t terribly large, but large enough to hold a floral sofa, two matching stuffed chairs, and a low table the right height for a tea tray. A writing desk occupied part of one wall, and a filled bookcase occupied part of another. The room was unoccupied at present, but he was sure it wasn’t always that way. A small fire that had been recently banked in the grate still glowed.
Barnaby made his way around the room, running his fingers across the top of the writing desk, then lifting the cover of a book. He wasn’t familiar with the title or the author, but someone was obviously reading the novel, because there was a white tatted bookmark to indicate how far the reader had progressed. And the person reading the book was obviously not an adult. Barnaby only needed to read a paragraph o realize the book was for a young reader.
Another book lay on a small table next to a small sofa on the opposite side of the room. Barnaby picked it up. The Count of Monte Cristo. Not a book a child would read. Could it be possible that this room was used by more than one person? Perhaps an adult and a child? Perhaps a male adult and a young female?
Barnaby placed the book back on the table and considered who might be here. Radburn had no brothers or sisters, so it was doubtful the individuals using this room were related to him. And if they were, they certainly seemed to have been banished from the household.
Did Silas Armor live here with his family? Why would they be hidden in this way?
He returned to the small writing desk against the wall and opened the drawers. The center drawer contained several sheets of writing paper, as well as several envelopes, all blank.
He closed the drawer and then searched the drawers on the right and left sides of the desk. He found nothing of significance and was about to close the last drawer when something prompted him to lift the stack of papers in the bottom. He looked closer and realized that the drawer had a false bottom.
Barnaby lifted it out and found several stacks of letters bundled together by a pale pink ribbon. None of the letters were addressed, and each was sealed with a wax crest. He lifted the top letter and broke the wax seal.
His heartbeats increased as he removed the folded papers. He shrugged off the feeling that he was intruding on someone’s private thoughts. That he was looking at something he wasn’t supposed to see. He unfolded the papers, then looked at the greeting.
His heart stuttered, and he sank down onto the chair behind him.
My dearest Millie, the letter began. It was dated just the previous month.
Barnaby blinked twice, then read the opening again. A voice inside his head screamed t
hat the letter couldn’t have been written by whom he thought it might have been, but the coincidence was too great to ignore outright. He continued reading.
Today is Tuesday. I’m not sure of the exact date. I don’t have a calendar to mark off, only my chart of seven days. If I haven’t made an error, it is Tuesday.
I have nothing interesting to tell you today, other than we had rice pudding for dinner. You know how I love rice pudding. It’s my favorite. When Stella delivered our trays, she told me Cook was going to bake strawberry tarts in the morning. I can’t—
Barnaby stopped reading when he heard a noise. A door opened on the wall before him, and a small female stepped into the room.
Her hair was the same golden shade as Millicent’s, and the resemblance was remarkable.
Her deep blue eyes opened wide when she saw him, and her hands clamped over her mouth to stifle a cry.
“Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.” Barnaby held up his hands in surrender. Hopefully, the girl would believe him. He smiled, then greeted her.
“Polly?”
Chapter 11
“How do you know my name? Have we met, sir?”
Barnaby stepped out from beside the desk. “No, miss. We haven’t.”
“Then how do you know who I am?”
“I am acquainted with your sister. She told me all about you.”
Millicent’s sister’s face exploded with an expression bright enough to light the room. “You know Millicent?” she cried. “Have you seen her? Is she well?”
Barnaby couldn’t help but smile. “Yes to all of your questions. She is well, although she misses you terribly.”
“Oh, I miss her, too.”
The young lady paused as if she suddenly realized how near to him she’d come. She stepped back one step and clutched the front of her robe as if to protect herself. “How did you find me? Are you employed by Lord Radburn?”
Barnaby shook his head as he pointed to the sofa. “Come, sit,” he said. “There’s not much time before I must leave. I want to hear how you came to be here.”
Millicent’s sister sat on the sofa, and Barnaby took the chair opposite her. “Now, tell me how you got here.”
“I’m not exactly sure, sir. There was a fire.” Polly clutched her hands in her lap and worried her lower lip. “It was terrible. Mama and Papa died in the fire. Did you know?”
“Yes,” he answered. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” she answered. “I try not to think of that night, but sometimes I can’t seem to forget what happened.”
“Is that why you’re awake tonight? Did you have a dream that woke you?”
She lowered her gaze. “Yes,” she answered softly. “I know I should be over the memories of that night. It’s been quite a long while. But I can’t seem to forget what happened.”
“That’s all right, Polly. We all have memories we can’t seem to forget. In time, they will fade.”
“Do you have memories like that, sir?”
Barnaby allowed his lips to lift as an answer. “Yes, I have to admit I do. And please, call me Barnaby. That’s my name.”
She lifted her gaze. “I don’t know anyone else who has that name.”
His smile broadened. “I don’t imagine you do. There aren’t many of us around.”
“That’s all right,” she said, matching his smile. “I like it. It makes you . . . special.” She looked at him, and it was like looking into Millicent’s eyes. “My real name is Pauline, but Millicent always called me Polly. And I called her Millie.”
“Polly fits you perfectly.” Barnaby studied Millicent’s sister as intently as she studied him. “Did Lord Radburn bring you here?”
She nodded her answer. “He brought us here after the fire. Mostly we live in the manor house with him except when he’s expecting guests. Then he brings us down here.”
“Why does he bring you here?”
“So no one will find us.” She paused and swallowed hard. Her eyes filled with tears before she spoke. “Lord Radburn told us that the fire wasn’t an accident and that whoever killed Mama and Papa wants us dead, too. He’s hiding us here so no one finds us.”
Barnaby couldn’t pretend Polly’s statement didn’t surprise him. “Did Lord Radburn tell you that?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know who intends to harm you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. If he does, he hasn’t said.”
“Is that why you’re here? Because Lord Radburn is expecting guests?”
“Yes. He told us that as soon as his guests leave we can move back into the house. Until then, he told us to be quiet and stay out of the way so no one sees us.”
“Do you know why he’s invited guests?”
“No, he just told us he needed to invite some business associates.” Polly surprised him with a dreamy look. “We heard music the other night. Was there dancing?”
Barnaby smiled. “Yes.”
“Were you there?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes widened. “Were there lots of ladies in beautiful gowns and handsome gentlemen there?”
He laughed. “Yes, Polly. Ever so many.”
“Oh, I wish I could have seen them.”
“One day soon, you will. You’ll be old enough to attend dances. I guarantee you’ll be one of the prettiest ladies there. All the handsome gentlemen will fight for the honor of dancing with you.”
Polly hugged her arms around her small body. “Oh, that will be like a dream come true.”
Barnaby reached out to gather Polly’s hands in his. “I would like to return to see you again, if that’s all right with you.”
“Oh yes. That would be wonderful.”
“Then I need your promise that you won’t tell anyone that I was here. Especially Lord Radburn. Or he might forbid me from returning.”
“Oh, I won’t tell anyone.”
“Good.” Barnaby rose, then extended his hand to help Polly to her feet. “Now you go back to bed, and this time you dream only of what color of gown you will wear at your first ball, and picture yourself dancing with the most handsome man there.”
Polly smiled as she rose to her feet and walked to the door from which she’d entered. Before she was gone from his sight, he stopped her.
“You’re not alone here, are you.”
She looked guilty, as if she’d given something away, then shook her head.
“He’s here, too, isn’t he.”
She nodded.
“Anyone else?”
A tear slipped from the corner of her eyes.
“No. Just Thomas and me.”
. . .
Barnaby hardly slept. Millicent’s brother and sister were alive. Why had Radburn let her believe they were dead? Why had he constructed a gravesite with their names on it?
Millicent would be over the moon.
But he dared not tell her. Not until he’d thought it through. If reuniting them meant putting them all in greater peril, she’d never forgive him.
Barnaby entered the breakfast room to find Radburn and Millicent eating. Both had food on their plates, which indicated they hadn’t been there long.
“Good morning, Radburn. Millicent.”
“Mr. Compton.”
“Reggie.”
Barnaby filled a plate and sat across from Millicent. She lifted her cup to her mouth, and over the rim she focused on him. He gave her a nod to indicate that all was well.
“Did you rest well?” Radburn asked as he finished the eggs on his plate.
“I rarely sleep well,” Barnaby answered. “But I’m sure your men have informed you of that fact when they see me walking the grounds at all hours.”
“Yes, they’ve mentioned your erratic sleeping habits.”
“It’s a result of the war, I’m afraid. Few of us who return can claim to be totally unscathed from our experience.”
“I’ve heard it was quite horrible,” Radburn said.
“All war is horrible. Unfortunately, men still find reasons to engage in such conflicts.”
“Will you need to rest, Reggie? I don’t have plans for the day, except to write a few letters and finish the book I started when we first arrived. I’d be happy if you joined me in the library.”
“I think I’d like that, although if I fall asleep, promise you will wake me.”
“No, I’ll let you sleep. From the look of you, you’re in need of the rest.”
“Does that go for me, too, my love?” Radburn asked. “Am I allowed to join you?”
“By all means, Marcus. This is your house. You are allowed anywhere in it.”
Radburn’s look focused on Millicent with a possessive gleam. “I’m glad to hear that.”
Millicent lowered her head and stared at the untouched food on her plate. There were such tumultuous undercurrents that traveled beneath any conversation Millicent and Radburn shared.
Barnaby thought perhaps she’d say something more, but Radburn’s man entered the room. He was dressed as impeccably as usual, and had the same stern expression on his face.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Radburn said as he rose to his feet. “I’m needed for a moment.”
“Of course,” Barnaby answered.
Millicent started to speak when Radburn and Silas Armor exited the room, but Barnaby lifted his hand to stop her words. He concentrated on what Radburn and Armor were saying just beyond the door.
“Have you found out what he was doing yet?”
“No, my lord. He was patrolling the area above the cliffs the last any of the men saw of him.”
“Do you think he was an agent?”
“No, my lord. He was one of the more loyal of the men.”
“Then what do you think happened?”
“I don’t know. But, my lord, we don’t think he knew about the trapdoor. If he discovered something beneath the grass and opened the door, perhaps he made a fatal misstep.”